In the space between moments
Crumbled stone has been purged from the earth,
Upon which prophesies are etched in ancient tongue.
Magic tinted mystery has been quietly rebirthed,
From shrouded blackness a forgotten curse has sprung.
In a time of fear a bitter soul danced the darkness,
Hidden evil rotting holes within his fragile heart.
Barbarous demons he embraced, accepting sorrow's kiss,
Knowing that from the hands of night he would never part.
Scarred from the cruelly twisted daggers of a broken past,
He vowed vengeance on the very fates who destroyed his life.
Somehow he knew that his light flooded bliss wouldn't last,
That he would again plunge into a fiery, anguished strife.
So when the blood moon rose full in the silent winter sky,
He began his retaliation against the world he scorned.
Calling forth surging power in a deeply electrified cry,
Uttering the curse of the bones as he silently mourned.
The words echoed through the dark, crimson hued midnight,
Instantly enslaving all who had ever done him wrong.
Now they were truly demons, never allowed an angel's flight,
As tied to their earthy bodies they sang agony's song.
He then inscribed the horrid curse upon a tablet of stone,
Making sure that all who needed such power found his spell.
But when the deed was done, his own soul melded with bone,
And forever entombed by his own words he miserably dwells.
His cries of anger have turned wise throughout the years,
As he warns of the price hatred can have upon oneself.
So never become engulfed in the pain of your own tears,
Never suffer the same punishment as one bitter soul was dealt.
Mockery is a form of ignorance; silence, a form of wisdom. -- Daniel L. Miller